


To Be With You

by Kibu



Series: Mahariel [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dalish Origin, Developing Relationship, Endgame, Game Spoilers, Head Injury, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Blood, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kibu/pseuds/Kibu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex is great, but what do you do when you start wanting more than that? Kieris Mahariel begins to question his relationship, while at the same time attempting to navigate the ridiculous world of human political intrigue and somehow still manage to save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Human politics were not Kieris’s forte. He could understand why Alistair wanted him along - moral support - but he had yet to divine the reason why Arl Eamon also seemed to think that Kieris’s presence was required. He had nothing to contribute to the discussions regarding the legitimacy of Alistair’s claim, or the debates of whether or not it would be better to make Alistair the king than to simply leave the throne in Anora’s hands. Kieris knew enough about his own people and their ways, but the concept of what was best for the entire kingdom of Ferelden was well outside of his wheelhouse.

Kieris had finally been able to escape from the endless debates. The Arl wanted to introduce Alistair to Lord Something-or-other, but thankfully Kieris had been able to beg off. Alistair’s scowl told him he was a traitor for doing it, but Kieris knew full well that Alistair would have done the same thing if their roles were reverse - not to mention that the expression had been pure jealousy that Kieris had such an opportunity open to him.

It was a beautiful afternoon in Denerim if the view from the estate’s windows was any indication. Kieris grinned and quickened his pace to a jog. He would stop by his rooms to change clothes and pick up his weapons (one could never be too careful) and then go out to explore the city for a while. Denerim was enormous, crowded wall to wall with noisy people of varying classes, races, and means. To Kieris it was absolutely fascinating, yet by the same token it was also just as daunting.

Kieris slowed again as he approached the rooms that had been designated as his. The door was open just a crack, and Kieris could hear the unexpected sound of music coming from within. He cautiously pushed the door open and walked inside, closing the heavy wooden portal behind him with a deceptively quiet click. As he moved to peek through the open door to the bedroom, the immediate worry that something strange was going on was quickly put to rest.

Zevran was sitting in a chair beneath the window, one leg hooked comfortably over the other and providing a base on which to rest the source of the music Kieris heard. His fingers danced lightly over the stringed instrument, small and quick movements that coaxed a sultry tune out of the unfamiliar device. Zevran’s eyes had been closed in concentration, but he opened them and smiled as Kieris entered the room.

“What is that?” Kieris asked, eyeing the instrument with open curiosity.

“This?” Zevran asked, his hands stilling momentarily. “It is called a guitar. Not something one would find among the Dalish, I suppose?”

“Not at all,” Kieris said, shaking his head. “Is it Antivan?”

“It is common in Antiva, yes.” Zevran picked a few more notes, the melody spilling over itself like a waterfall.

“I’ve never considered you as a minstrel,” Kieris said with a grin. “This is a whole new, softer side of you, Zev.”

“Softer?” Zevran echoed, raising his eyebrows.

Kieris mirrored the action, giving Zevran his best look of wide-eyed innocence. “Is that the wrong word to use?”

“You, my Ris, are far more devious than you try to let on.” The music Zevran was making changed; his hands were stronger on the strings and tapping a beat against the guitar’s body as counterpoint to the chords he played. It was very different than any of the minstrels Kieris had heard in their travels, and utterly unlike the music he was used to hearing back when he was with his clan. It made him want to keep to the beat and surrender to the pull of the rhythm.

“I suppose it takes one to know one,” Kieris said, releasing the toggle that held the stiff collar of his formal doublet closed. He toyed with the second toggle, leaving the doorway and walking closer to Zevran with measured steps. Zevran watched him intently with hooded eyes, the weight of his gaze making Kieris feel flushed.

“What’s this? Are you going to perform for me, now?” Zevran asked.

“I’ve never tried,” Kieris admitted. “But as long as you promise not to laugh at me, I’m more than willing to give it a try.”

“I’m certain that you would be better at it than you might think,” Zevran commented with a smirk. 

“Hey now, I never said that I wouldn’t be any good,” Kieris said, pulling out the tie that held his hair back in a short tail giving his head a shake. “I just don’t know what I’m doing, exactly, that’s all.” For all his talk, the flaming red tips of Kieris’s ears were a dead giveaway that he was trying to act more confident than he actually felt.

Kieris ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly tousling it and causing it to fall partly into his face rather than being neatly tucked behind his ears. He stroked his hand down his chest, unhooking each clasp that he encountered before reaching the solid metal buckle of his belt. His fingers stroked over the cool metal, his eyes suddenly thoughtful and a wicked smile curling his lips.

“Actually, I have a better idea,” Kieris said, sliding the belt free from his hips and looping it in on itself.

Zevran touched his palm to the strings to silence the guitar, his languid smirk growing into a full grin. “Devious, indeed. Perhaps it is truly a shame that we were not alone on that day when I failed to kill you.”

“Yes, because bloodied-up strangers who just tried to kill me are exactly my type,” Kieris said with a snort, waiting for Zevran to set the guitar safely aside. Once that was done, Kieris straddled Zevran’s lap and pulled him into a heated kiss.

Zevran laughed into the kiss, running his hands up under Kieris’ open doublet and pushing up his undershirt as his went. “Actually, I think that really is exactly your type,” he said against Kieris’s lips.

“Oh, hush,” Kieris replied, nipping at Zevran’s lower lip. “Let me at least pretend I wasn’t lost from day one.”

“Why would you want to believe that?” Zevran scoffed. “There is no shame in succumbing to my natural charms. It is not an uncommon practice, after all.”

“Yes, well, thankfully you are far better at other forms of penetration rather than a blade to the heart.” Kieris kissed the edge of Zevran’s jaw, fingers finding the lacing of Zevran’s fly and loosening the ties that held it closed.

Zevran laughed, his breath hitching when Kieris slipped his hand past the obstructing fabric to wrap around Zevran’s cock. “I could not be more pleased to have failed a contract. To have robbed the world of your beauty would have been an unforgivable crime, to be sure.” He lifted his hips to meet Kieris’s hand, seeking more of his touch.

Kieris blushed. “There’s that clever mouth of yours again,” he said, extricating himself from the tangled of limbs in order to move behind the chair. “Give me your hands,” he said. When Zevran complied, Kieris looped the belt over Zevran’s wrists and pulled it snug. He secured them together, pulling the tail end of the belt back through the buckle and throwing the catch. It was a very minor bond, given that there was nothing keeping Zevran in the chair if he wanted to leave, but it was still a highly enjoyable sight from Kieris’s perspective.

Kieris traced his index fingers from the points of Zevran’s ears, down his jaw line and under his chin to finally splay his hands over Zevran’s chest under his shirt. It put Kieris’s face close to the back of Zevran’s neck in the process. “I remember you telling me that you enjoy being tied up,” he murmured against Zevran’s skin.

“It is so kind of you to remember,” Zevran quipped. Kieris could hear the amusement in his voice. “Now that you have me at your mercy, my Grey Warden, what do you intend to do with me?”

“I have a few ideas,” Kieris said and kissed the soft spot just behind Zevran’s ear. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” Zevran said. A heartbeat later, he chuckled and added, “You would not have spared me for so long just to kill me now, no?”

Kieris was glad for the moment that he was out of Zevran’s immediate range of vision. For some reason, that little inclusion wrapped a cold fist around Kieris’s heart and squeezed. He tried to ignore it, thinking about the willing man at his mercy and all of the things they could do with Zevran in such a compromising position. But those simple words, something Zevran probably hadn’t even thought much about, made Kieris falter in a way that felt like he’d jumped into Lake Calenhad at midwinter.

He wanted Zevran - oh, how badly he seemed to always want Zevran. Still, something about those words had shaken that deep, desperate desire. It made Kieris revise his plans quickly; there would be no hiding his thoughts from Zevran, who was so good at reading people. Kieris looked around hastily, a sudden idea coming to mind. Kieris had fussed so much with his wardrobe prior to the meeting with Arl Eamon that he’d left clothes and accessories scattered around the room. He retrieved an embroidered waist sash from the floor and draped it around Zevran to show it to him. “May I?” Kieris asked.

“Certainly,” Zevran said with an audible grin. As Kieris secured the fabric around Zevran’s head, fully covering his eyes, Zevran laughed again. “This brings back memories.”

“I bet. Hopefully we’ll make some good new ones to go with them.” Kieris sucked gently on the tip of Zevran’s ear, sending a shiver through the other elf. Despite his confused feelings, he still very much wanted to touch Zevran. Kieris wanted to feel Zevran shudder and tense, to hear his breathing turn ragged and the way he cried out when he came. For the moment, however, while he was corralling his rogue thoughts back into the locked box where he kept them in the darkest corner of his mind, Kieris wasn’t sure if he really wanted Zevran touching him back just yet. It made Zevran’s current state just about ideal.

Kieris walked around to stand in front of Zevran, taking a moment to admire the display. He was so consentingly vulnerable, unable to see and unable to touch, his trousers lying open invitingly. “You’re quite a sight,” Kieris said, nudging Zevran’s legs apart in order to kneel between them.

“I’ve been told I have the perfect cheekbones for a blindfold,” Zevran said cheerfully. The rest of his breath escaped in a hiss as Kieris’s mouth closed around the head of his cock.

Kieris didn’t bother to get Zevran fully out of his clothes. He had all the access he required, and there was something sexy and impatient about only removing the bare minimum. Certainly the view was undeniably hot, and one that Kieris already knew he’d like to see again another day.

Kieris took Zevran in as far as he could before coughing as he gag reflex was triggered, much to Zevran’s apparent amusement. “Do not worry about such things, my Kieris,” Zevran said with a smile. “It is all quite enjoyable without you needing to do too much all at once.”

“Mm,” was Kieris’s response. He supplemented the suction of his mouth with pressure from his hand, moving in concert so that the two forces were able to provide stimulation to the entirety of Zevran’s cock. His other hand wiggled the lacings of Zevran’s fly the rest of the way open before plunging in to pay teasing attention to Zevran’s balls. The act earned Kieris an appreciative purr at the end of one of Zevran’s breathy moans and a barely-restrained buck of Zevran’s hips.

Kieris hummed again around Zevran’s cock, enjoying the sounds the he dragged from his partner by doing so. Zevran groaned, exhaling a string of words that Kieris couldn’t understand except for his own name. It left Kieris curious enough that he pulled back, lazily stroking down Zevran’s full length with just his hand.

“What did you say?” Kieris asked, running his thumb over the very tip. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Another few half-whispered words of what was presumably Antivan and Zevran switched back to a language that they both understood. “I only wish that I could see you, to watch the way I disappear into you. You are always such a handsome sight, and so arousing. It seems a shame that I am unable to see you now.”

Kieris’s breath left him in a rush, Zevran’s words burning through his blood like a flash-fire. It was everything he needed to slam the lid on the box of rogue feelings in his head and bury it under layer after layer of unbridled lust. “I like that, too,” Kieris said, bracing his hands on Zevran’s thighs in order to push himself up to his feet.

In the corner of the room was a full-length, free-standing mirror. Kieris tended to ignore it; such mirrors were too likely to trigger memories he wished he could forget. For once, those memories were not the first thoughts that ran rampant through his imagination. “Zevran,” he said, looking away from the mirror in order to closely watch Zevran’s face behind the blindfold. “What if…” Kieris licked his lips and lowered his voice, leaning in so close to Zevran’s ear that his breath stirred the flyaway blond hairs at the back of Zevran’s neck. “Would you like to find out what it’s like to watch me disappear into you?”

A slow smile spread over Zevran’s face and he raised one leg, hooking a booted foot around the back of Kieris’s thigh. “Assuming you mean you would like to penetrate me, think that sounds like a fine idea.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Kieris said, cupping Zevran’s face in his hands and kissing him until they were both impatient and needy. He then left Zevran and went to the mirror, grabbing it by the polished wooden stand and bodily dragging it closer to the bed. Zevran’s head tracked Kieris’s movements despite the blindfold still firmly in place, an amused smile on his kiss-reddened lips.

“It sounds like you have something interesting in mind, no?” Zevran said, ears pricked to catch every sound.

“You tell me,” Kieris said, checking the reflection before returning to Zevran’s side and removing the sash from over his eyes.

“Mm, yes, that does seem to be the case.” Zevran stood up and rolled his shoulders, his hands still secured behind him but at least with the back of the chair out of the way. “I like the way you think.” His eyes swept up and down over Kieris and he raised his eyebrows. “Though you are most regrettably still clothed.”

“True,” Kieris agreed. “But so are you.”

“A travesty,” Zevran said. “And me without hands to remedy the situation.” He wiggled his hips, but his trousers remained stubbornly in place. Kieris reached over and gave them a sharp tug, freeing the fabric from that obstacle but quickly running into the problem of Zevran’s boots. They only took an extra minute, Zevran sitting and obligingly lifting each foot in turn so that Kieris’ could remove the offending footwear. The pants followed suit as soon as Zevran stood again.

Kieris kicked off his soft, formal slippers before divesting himself of trousers and undergarments. He shrugged out of his doublet and undershirt; they would only get in the way if he left them. When he turned his attention back to Zevran, Kieris found him already on the bed and admiring himself in the mirror. “It’s a nice view,” Kieris said, picking up a small vial from the bedside table and joining him on the bed.

“Mm. Even better now,” Zevran said with a lecherous grin, his eyes roving over Kieris’s bared skin. Seeing them in the mirror together, Kieris had to admit that they made a striking pair. Kieris was dark-haired and pale, and Zevran was his opposite.

“And you’re still all right?” Kieris asked as he ran his hand down Zevran’s arm. “Want this off?” Kieris checked around the belt that held Zevran’s arms fast, gentle fingers making sure the leather wasn’t biting into his skin or restricting too much blood to his hands.

Zevran chuckled. “I am quite all right, my Ris, and sometimes I like my pleasures a bit rough and tumble. Your concern for my well-being, however, is very touching. Though it would be better if there was more touching, of course.”

From his place behind Zevran, Kieris wrapped his arms around him and stuck his hands beneath the shirt that Zevran still wore. Kieris traced the lines of a tattoo that decorated a swath of Zevran’s ribs, memory showing him the placement despite the marks’ current concealment. Kieris hitched the shirt up, revealing the bottom of the tattoo while the fingers of his other hand found and attended to one of Zevran’s nipples. Zevran leaned back into him, wrapping his tied hands around Kieris’s cock and giving it an unexpected, squeezing stroke that made Kieris gasp.

“If you’re going to do that, we should at least be efficient about it,” Kieris said. He kept one arm loosely draped around Zevran’s waist, using the other to locate the vial that had momentarily resided next to his knee. Opening the vial, Kieris dripped some of the oil it contained onto Zevran’s waiting hands.

As Zevran resumed his fondling, helpfully coating Kieris’s cock in the slippery liquid, Kieris watched their reflections. Zevran would rise up slightly on his knees with every stroke, making his cock bounce hypnotically with the repetitive motion. Kieris shifted his grip around Zevran’s waist in order to grasp his waving cock, stilling it but at the same time pulling it into the rhythm that Zevran himself was setting.

“Kieris,” Zevran groaned, lifting his hips to thrust into Kieris’s hand. “I thought you wanted to take me?” His accent was thicker than usual, his breathing heavy. Kieris loved the sound of his name when Zevran was like that, the way Zevran would drop it from three syllables to two and it would come out sounding almost slurred.

“Impatient,” Kieris murmured into Zevran’s ear before biting his earlobe. He grinned as Zevran inhaled sharply at the pleasure-pain, Zevran’s cock twitching in Kieris’s hands. “Wouldn’t want to rush it too much, right?” truth be told, Kieris was feeling just as impatient as Zevran seemed to be. He slicked his fingers and tossed the re-sealed vial farther up the bed for safe keeping; there would be enough of a mess without spilling that everywhere as well. “I can’t really tell, Zev. Do you want it?” Kieris asked, his teasing voice barely above a whisper in his lover’s ear.

A shiver ran through Zevran. “Very much, yes,” he said, giving Kieris’s cock a final squeeze before releasing it. He leaned forward until his face pressed against the coverlet, presenting Kieris with a perfect view of his ass.

Kieris ran his dry hand over Zevran’s skin, finding another of his tattoos and tracing it down the curve of his ass. He followed the light touch with a slap that made his hand sting and Zevran gasp against the blanket. Kieris pressed one lubricated finger into Zevran’s hole, with Zevran’s muffled moans of encouragement loud in his ears.

“Do it again,” Zevran said, wiggling his back end in invitation. Kieris obliged, the ringing slap accompanying the insertion of a second finger. It was clear, from the sounds that Zevran made, that he was enjoying himself. Between those sounds and the sight of his own fingers disappearing inside Zevran, whatever unwanted thoughts Kieris might have harbored about their relationship were driven far from his consciousness.

Kieris grabbed hold of the belt that bound Zevran’s arms, using it to pull him up from having his face buried in the blankets. “I want you to see this,” Kieris said, a huskiness to his voice that he didn’t recognize. He withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock, pushing past the ring of muscle to fully enter Zevran. He kept eye contact with Zevran in the mirror the whole time, until skin met skin and Zevran’s ass was fully flush against Kieris’s lap.

Zevran grinned, undulating his body like a ripple in order to partly release Kieris’s cock before taking it right back in again. “You surprise me, my Ris. You were hiding this forceful side, no?” He sounded as relaxed and in-control as ever, but Kieris heard the way Zevran’s breath hitched when he sat back against Kieris’s thighs.

“Sometimes it’s nice to give up control,” Kieris said, rocking his hips so that Zevran bounced along the length of his cock. “Isn’t it?”

“Ye-es,” Zevran hissed, closing his eyes as they found the rhythm together. Conversation become a lower priority, thoughts narrowing down so the whole of Kieris’s focus was simply Zevran and the way their bodies came together.

When the sounds Zevran made changed, a single grunt unlike the rest, it broke through Kieris’s tunnel vision and the rush of blood in his ears. Zevran’s ragged breaths came out like a hiss as Kieris paused to unhook the belt that still bound Zevran’s wrists. “Sorry,” Kieris panted, withdrawing completely despite a guttural noise of disapproval from Zevran that was muffled by his face being flat against the blanket once again.

Zevran moved to push himself up, but Kieris stopped him. “Lie on your back,” Kieris said. He helped Zevran to roll over so that he could avoid putting more pressure on his already strained joints. Kieris sat and dragged Zevran closer to him, meeting only slight resistance when he pulled Zevran into his lap and onto his cock again. Zevran arched his back and Kieris inhaled sharply, fingertips dipping into Zevran’s hips as he thrust into him.

Zevran bit his lip, the action short-lived as Kieris grasped Zevran’s cock and stroked it in time with his movements. The words Zevran managed, broken by gasps and punctuated with little moans that Kieris was fairly certain weren’t actually words themselves, were fervently Antivan. Again, the only thing Kieris understood was his own name - which left Zevran’s lips as a shout, his body clenching around Kieris’s cock with incredible force as he came.

Kieris followed suit a moment later, the physicality of Zevran’s climax, as well as the intimately arousing knowledge that he had been the one to cause that climax, working together in a way that wrung Kieris’s own release out of him with a wordless cry. They rode it out together, panting for air and trembling with exertion.

When Kieris felt he was capable of moving again, he let go of Zevran’s hips and eased out of him, drawing a groan from Zevran. Kieris flopped down beside him, running his hand over the tattoo that curled its way up Zevran’s ribcage and disappeared beneath his shirt.

“You said something before,” Kieris said, dry throat making his voice rough. “What was it?”

“Did I?” Zevran asked, also a little bit hoarse. “I don’t remember. Clearly it was nothing of import.” He chuckled and laced his fingers through Kieris’s. They were both sweaty and spent, but at least momentarily sated. Kieris pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down at Zevran.

“I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?” Kieris asked, brushing damp hair out of Zevran’s face with his free hand.  
“Not at all, no,” Zevran replied with an easy smile. “A simple discomfort that was eliminated before it could become anything serious. How lucky I am to have a lover who is so concerned for my well-being.”

Kieris’s heart skittered in his chest and he released Zevran’s hand in order to sit up. The sky outside the window was just as beautiful as it had been before, giving Kieris an appropriate excuse to change the subject. “I’m glad you’re all right. Do you think you’d be up for a walk around the city? It’s been a while since we were last in Denerim; I’d like to check out the market.”

Zevran sat up with no apparent difficulty, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms to work out the kinks. “A walk could be nice. Once we get cleaned up, of course.”

Kieris leaned over to kiss him and got up from the bed. “I think that sounds reasonable,” he said. “We’d be quite a sight, otherwise.”


	2. Chapter 2

Denerim’s market was as busy as Kieris remembered and expected, with merchants loudly hawking their wares in a constant battle to be heard over each other. Kieris and Zevran had no difficulty moving through the crowd, keeping a wary eye out for cutpurses. Kieris’s own fingers itched as they passed close by a pair of nobles, but he resisted the desire to lighten their pockets.

It was a drastically different environment than life with the Dalish, and Kieris enjoyed the hubbub. He dawdled at the back of a large group, trying to stand on tiptoe to see what had everyone so interested. Zevran grabbed Kieris’s hand and pulled him away, dodging around the group and down a back street with other stalls still lining the sides. There were far fewer people here, most of the crowd seeming to be caught up in whatever was going on in the main square.

As they curved along the side street to rejoin the bustle of the bazaar, one of the shops caught Kieris’s attention. He stopped, pulling on Zevran’s hand to get him to stop as well. “Wait,” Kieris said, releasing Zevran’s hand in order to walk closer to the seller’s cacophony of mismatched goods. “Excuse me. Can I take a look at those?”

“What, these?” The merchant picked up the pair of boots that Kieris had indicated, handing them to him so that he could get a better look. The leather was soft and supple, the stitching intricate and decorative as well as functional. They were sturdily crafted, but with artisan workmanship that made them also a work of fine art.

Zev,” Kieris said, holding the boots out to him. “Look at these.”

Zevran took the boots, looking over them with a critical eye. He turned one upside down, touching a fingertip to the mark stamped into the sole. “Antivan,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Just like the ones I saw when I was last in Antiva City - the same maker, even.”

“Interesting coincidence,” Kieris said before turning back to the seller. “How much?”

“Clearly, as you can see by the quality--” the man began.

“How much?” Kieris repeated, cutting him off before he could really launch into whatever spiel he had prepared.

“Fifty sovereigns, messere,” the merchant said without further hesitation.

Kieris glanced at Zevran and raised his eyebrows. Zevran snorted derisively, handing the boots back to Kieris. “Even at the cost of importing and obtaining them, such a price is enough to make one believe that he does not truly wish to sell.” Zevran shook his head. “They would not be worth more than ten, and even that is inflated.”

“That’s too bad,” Kieris said, placing the boots back in their spot among the other assorted wares. “They would look good on you.”

“Wait!” The merchant exclaimed as they turned to leave. “Fifteen sovereigns, and I swear you will not find their like anywhere else!”

Zevran snorted again, but Kieris saw the way he looked back at the boots. It was worth it. “Twelve,” Kieris said, facing the merchant again.

“You are killing my children, messere,” the man said. “You are stealing the food right from their mouths! Fourteen.”

“Twelve,” Kieris repeated, taking his purse out of his leather jerkin with a jingle of coin. He caught a glimpse of Zevran’s grin before it was hidden behind his hand and a faked cough.

The man’s eyes riveted on Kieris’s purse and he reluctantly nodded. “Twelve. You drive a hard bargain, messere.” The seller licked his lips as Kieris counted the agreed-on coins into his open palm.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Kieris said. He tucked his purse away and picked up the boots before linking his arm through Zevran’s and heading for the market square.

“I do so enjoy your serious Warden face, my Ris,” Zevran commented with a laugh. “It’s so unlike you.”

Kieris grinned, shoving the boots against Zevran’s chest so he was forced to take them. “It can be useful sometimes,” he said. “Have you realized we’re being followed, by the way?”

“I was wondering when you would notice,” Zevran said, his tone deceptively light. “It’s as good a chance as any to break these in, I suppose.” They stopped near another merchant so that Zevran could change, leaving his well-worn old boots behind one of the crates when they left.

Zevran admired his new footwear as they left the market, cutting down one of the dirty back alleys. They both had their guards up, but kept their conversation running as if they were completely at ease. “Actually, fifteen still would have been fair,” Zevran admitted.

“Then I’ll count it as a good deal,” Kieris said, kicking a loose stone so that it skittered off ahead of them.

“It was. And…” Zevran hesitated. “Thank you. They are something I will treasure. I do not know much about the ‘proper’ way to accept such a gift, so I hope that expressing my gratitude is sufficient?” He looped an arm around Kieris’s shoulders and drew him in close to kiss his cheek. As he did, Zevran also snatched one of the daggers kept sheathed against Kieris’s back and threw it, catching a would-be assailant directly in the throat.

“Crows,” Zevran said simply, all of the earlier warmth absent from his voice. He headed for the bright end of the alley with Kieris close behind, not stopping to wait for Kieris to retrieve his borrowed weapon.

Kieris wiped the dagger clean on the fallen Crow’s chest before hurrying to catch up with Zevran. “Zev, what is--”

“And so here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again,” an unfamiliar voice, dripping with condescension, interrupted Kieris. The owner of the voice stepped out in front of Kieris and Zevran, his arms crossed over his chest.

“So they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?” Zevran did a remarkable job keeping his voice even, but Kieris could tell he wasn’t as relaxed as he wanted to pretend. The stranger, Taliesen, seemed to know just as well as Kieris did.

“I volunteered, of course,” Taliesen said. “When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.” He had a smug smile, his chin tilted up so that even if he hadn’t had the height advantage already, he could still look down his nose at the two elves in front of him.

“Is that so? Well, here I am, in the flesh,” Zevran retorted, lifting his chin to mirror Taliesen.

“You can return with me, Zevran,” Taliesen offered, uncrossing his arms but looking no less hostile in Kieris’s eyes. “I know why you did this, and I don’t blame you. It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story.” He smiled again, and Kieris curled his lip in undisguised distaste. “Anyone can make a mistake.”

“Oh, that sounds like an excellent idea - go run off with the guy hired to kill him,” Kieris snorted derisively. “And why would he want to go back? Particularly with someone who’s more likely to stab him in the back than help him?” Kieris’s grip tightened on the hilt of his dagger, but he resisted the urge to draw the second one and make the first attack. “He’s had every opportunity to go back without any need of your ‘help’, and he’s chosen not to.” Kieris faltered, glancing at Zevran. “He’s here because he wants to be. He doesn’t need the Crows anymore.”

“Oh?” Taliesen asked. He laughed, looking briefly away from Zevran to give Kieris a dismissive once-over. “Does Zevran need to live?”

Zevran touched Kieris’s shoulder before he could retort. “I suspect I will manage just fine, Taliesen,” Zevran said, sounding resigned. “I’m sorry, my old friend, but the answer is no. I’m not coming back… and you should have stayed in Antiva.”

Taliesen drew his weapons, but Zevran was already one step ahead of him. Zevran used his half-second advantage to slam his shoulder into Kieris, knocking the Warden to his knees in stunned confusion. Before Kieris could regain his footing, Zevran had engaged Taliesen and moved the battle further into the dead-end cul-de-sac of rundown houses. Kieris jumped to his feet, both daggers in his hands, but he hesitated rather than hurling himself into the fray. Zevran likely would not appreciate his interference even if together it would be easy for them to take Taliesen down. It was Zevran’s fight, even though Kieris hated standing aside.

Movement on the surrounding rooftops caught Kieris’s attention. He took off like a shot before he had a chance to fully comprehend what he had seen, hopping onto a barrel and using it as a stepping stool so that he could grab the edge of the nearby roof and swarm up onto the cracked shingles. The look of surprise in the Crow archer’s eyes before Kieris cut through his bowstring would have been almost comical if the whole situation hadn’t been so nerve-wracking. Not giving a Crow a chance to reach for a different weapon, Kieris stabbed through the light leather armor that covered his chest. One less threat.

Kieris looked down, where Zevran and Taliesen were still locked in their wild flurry of flashing blades. He ran across the rooftops to get closer to where they were, struggling against the desire to dive down and assist. The struggle ended in failure when he heard a shout and saw one of Zevran’s daggers fall with a clatter that echoed through the small clearing. Blood stained the ground beneath Zevran, dripping from a long gash that slit his bicep nearly from shoulder to elbow.

Kieris was on the ground before he knew it, tucking into a somersault to mitigate the impact and still coming up on his feet. An arrow buried itself in the side of the building behind Kieris, passing close enough to him that it left a thin trail of fire along his cheek. The second archer was half concealed across the cul-de-sac behind a broken crate, firing at him through the missing slats. She nocked another arrow, her aim shifting away from Kieris and instead swinging toward Taliesen’s and Zevran’s deadly dance.

Not every assassin was as honorable as Zevran, even within the same organization. Kieris pelted across the open space, a desperate plea to Ghilan’nain on his lips. The Crow lined up her shot at the same time Kieris did - but unlike Kieris, she hesitated. Before she could loose her arrow, Zevran had spun around Taliesen. It put a human barrier between Zevran and the archer. She had no opportunity to swing her bow back toward Kieris instead, his thrown dagger clipping her in the temple and forcing her to duck behind better cover.

Kieris did not alter course, hurling himself against the rotten wood of the crate and pinning his adversary between it and the wall behind. He heard her breath leave in a wheeze, and drove his remaining dagger in the direction of the sound. The wheeze became a gurgle before abruptly cutting off. The dagger Kieris had thrown glinted among the splintered boards. Kieris retrieved it and looked back toward Zevran.

In the span of only a few seconds, Zevran’s fight had ended. Taliesen lay on the ground in a rapidly expanding pool of blood, Zevran standing over him. One of Zevran’s daggers lay in the dirt at his feet where he had dropped it earlier, his injured arm dangling limply at his side. His eyes met Kieris’s and he nodded slightly. “Were there two more?” he asked, the words coming out with some difficulty.

“Yeah,” Kieris replied, adrenaline still making his ears ring. “Three if you count the one from the alley.”

“Good. There should not be more.” Zevran slid the dagger he held into its sheath before bending to retrieve the other. He wasn’t moving his left arm any more than he had to, the wicked slice in his bicep still bleeding profusely. 

Kieris sheathed his weapons and walked over to join Zevran. He squatted beside Taliesen’s body and began taking off one of his boots. “Zev, Kieris said, pausing for a moment to remove a handkerchief from his belt pouch and hold it up for Zevran. “Press that over your arm for me. You know, unless you’re planning to die on me now?”

“What are you doing?” Zevran asked, though he took the square of linen and pressed it against the bloody wound.

Kieris didn’t respond at first, removing the lacing that had been in Taliesen’s boot. He stood up and began wrapping the cord around Zevran’s arm, using it as a makeshift tie to hold the handkerchief in place. “That should help. He gave it to you - it’s only fitting that he help fix it as well.”

Zevran chuckled, but did not protest as Kieris helped him to put his uninjured arm around Kieris’s shoulder. “And there it is,” Zevran said, leaning on Kieris as they left the dead-end street. “Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows. They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen,” he explained, glancing over at Kieris and frowning suddenly. “You’re bleeding.”

“You’re bleeding worse,” Kieris pointed out. The makeshift bandage on Zevran’s arm was already starting to soak through.

“So I am,” Zevran agreed. “As for the Crows, so long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.”

“Good,” Kieris said feelingly. “I think we’ve seen more than enough of them now.”

“It’s a very good thing. It is, in fact, what I had hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me.” Zevran grinned, though Kieris could see pain in his eyes.

“Not killing you was the best decision I’ve ever made,” Kieris said. “But right now, all I want is to get you back to the estate before you bleed out on me.” His arm, looped around Zevran to steady him, tightened just a fraction.

“I understand. We can talk more about it later.” Zevran fell silent, leaning on Kieris with a level of trust and reliance that made Kieris’s heart race for more reasons than his already thrumming adrenaline.


	3. Chapter 3

When Kieris awoke, it was with a splitting headache. Every bit of him hurt, and in addition it was _cold_. He reached for the blankets, but his hand encountered nothing but air. Groggy and confused, he sat up and opened his eyes. The bars of a cell greeted him.

“Oh, you’re awake! I was starting to worry.” Alistair’s familiar voice was a pleasant surprise. Kieris followed the sound, forcing his eyes to focus properly, and was startled to find Alistair sitting in nothing but his smallclothes with his back to the bars. No wonder Kieris was cold - both of them had been stripped down to their under things.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Kieris said with a groan. He rubbed the bridge of his nose to try to ease the pain in his head. “Normally I like to remember the reason why I’m waking up naked with someone. What happened?”

“You don’t remember? I guess Ser Cauthrien hit you pretty hard, didn’t she?” Alistair snorted in disgust. “The Queen sold us out - remember now? They’ve taken us to Fort Drakon.”

“Fort Drakon?” Kieris repeated with his confusion as strong as ever. “What about the Queen? Is she safe?”

“Considering I’ve been here with you the whole time, or at least as far as I’m aware, and they knocked both of us out before dragging us here - I haven’t really had much opportunity to go around gathering information.” Alistair’s tone was cutting, but he sighed and his expression softened. “Sorry. I thought you might be dead at first until I saw that you were breathing; you were bleeding pretty bad. I’ve been trying to think of ways out of here, but unfortunately that hasn’t exactly turned anything up.”

“So we just need to get out of here?” Kieris turned away from Alistair to study the heavy, barred door. A single guard stood nearby, leaning against the stone wall with a bored, glazed-over look. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the captives at all. “That’s easy enough.”

“Easy?” Alistair asked, affronted. “Beyond calling the guard over and conking him on the head of something, I don’t know how we’re going to get past even the lock on the door. In case you haven’t noticed, Kieris, they took all of our equipment.”

“I noticed,” Kieris said, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear the fuzziness that refused to go away. All he managed to do was make everything spin for a moment while he sat very still and tried not to vomit. When the vertigo passed, Kieris scooted over to Alistair so that they could speak in whispers. “As nice a sight as you are right now, I think it’s time and past that we got back to Eamon’s estate. And the view would probably be better if it wasn’t so cold, I’m sure.” Kieris’s eyes flicked down briefly, and he was rewarded with a blush from Alistair as the other Warden scrambled to cover himself with his hands.

“You’ve been around Zevran too much,” Alistair said with a frown. “And how do you propose we get out of here in naught but our smallclothes? Seduce the guard?”

“We’d need Zevran’s expertise for that,” Kieris replied. “Thankfully, however, they left us our under clothes - and just as thankfully, I was wearing some when we left.” Alistair grimaced and Kieris grinned at him. “What? I wasn’t exactly planning on getting into much combat today!”

“I think we’re getting close to far too much information,” Alistair said as he rubbed his hands over his face. “And I’m not going to ask how that correlates with you and Zevran coming back from the marketplace all bloody. Anyway, what’s your plan?”

“Pick the lock,” Kieris said.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe because we’re mostly naked right now!” Alistair almost started to shout, but a glance at the guard made him lower his voice again. “With what tools were you planning to manage this incredible escape? Or is that something else that I really, really don’t need to know about?” he asked, regarding Kieris with a look of mixed interest and trepidation.

“It’s just something I’ve learned,” Kieris said with a shrug. He pulled the drawstring on his smalls and shimmied out of them, ignoring Alistair’s startled yelp and how he hastily averted his eyes.

“Maker’s breath! Warn a guy before you go doing things like that!” Alistair exclaimed, covering his eyes with his hand. His face was flaming red.

“Oh, I’m sure elves had completely different bits than the ones you’ve seen all your life,” Kieris scoffed, working a few small bits of wire out of the waist seam of his under clothes. “Creators forbid you should accidentally lay eyes on the naked body of another man!” He rolled his eyes, but re-dressed as soon as he had retrieved what he needed. “You’re safe now, Alistair. The elf cock is once again covered. Really, though, I’m trying to rescue both of our butts here - a bare one seems like it ought to be pretty low on your list of things to be worrying about if you ask me.” Kieris knew he was talking too much, that he had no right to give Alistair such a hard time, but the snarky chatter gave him something to focus on that was not how sick he felt and how badly his head ached.

“If you can get us out of here, I’ll have a lot less to worry about in general,” Alistair said, peeking through his fingers before taking his hand away entirely.

“As long as the guard keeps taking long blinks, we’ll be fine.” Kieris got to his feet, having to pause for a minute while the room danced in circles around him. He crept to the door and set to work, using the two bits of wire to coax the tumblers into their desired positions. “Get ready,” Kieris said, just before the lock released with a jarringly loud _clang_.

Everything happened all at once. Kieris shoved the cell door open and Alistair sprinted past him. The lone guard barely had time for a surprised “What the-!?” before Alistair’s fist caught him in the jaw. The guard crumpled and Alistair caught him, lowering him to the stone floor instead of letting him hit it in all his fully-armored glory. Had Alistair let the man fall, the resulting cacophony surely would have alerted every other guard in the entirety of the fort.

Kieris followed at a more sedate pace, unsteady on his feet. Alistair was rifling through the guard’s belt, and a moment later came up right a ring of keys. “There’s a chest over there in the corner. I wonder if that’s where they put our stuff.” Alistair spun the keys on his finger, but stilled them and frowned at Kieris. “Are you all right? You don’t look very good.” He put a steadying hand on Kieris’s shoulder and forced Kieris to look up at him.

Kieris winced. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

“You’re not fine,” Alistair insisted. “One of your eyes keeps going a bit funny. Getting out of here might be harder than we thought.”

“Please, Alistair, just forget it. Let’s just get back to the others.” Kieris pulled away, pressing a hand to his head in an effort to hold it together. When he took his hand away, he found it smeared with blood. Thankfully Alistair didn’t seem to notice.

“I wonder how many guards are out there. Seems like most of them are either on patrol or at the castle for the Landsmeet.” Alistair left Kieris’s side in order to unlock the chest he’d seen earlier. “And there we are. Success!”

It took Kieris more effort than he wanted to admit to get dressed. He helped Alistair armor up and was thankful to have assistance in return. If Alistair noticed that Kieris was relying on him more than usual, he didn’t comment - for which Kieris was grateful. It made him feel even guiltier for teasing Alistair so much before.

“Do you think we might be able to sneak out?” Kieris asked, placing his helmet back into the chest. It had a massive dent in the side, the metal warped so badly that Kieris wasn’t sure if it would even fit on his head anymore. The idea of putting it on to test the theory sounded like an exercise in even more pain, so it was a better plan to just leave it behind. “It would be nice if we could avoid having to fight our way out.”

“I agree,” Alistair said, holding a different helmet to Kieris. A glance downward confirmed that it had previously belonged to the now-unconscious guard. “Here, put this on. With your ears, we’re bound to be spotted if they aren’t covered up.”

Kieris took the helm reluctantly. He knew before it had completely left Alistair’s hands that it was going to be both too big and extraordinarily heavy, but Alistair was right. His Dalish leathers alone were different enough from the standard guard uniforms to potentially cause trouble, but adding in the very obvious fact that he was an elf would eliminate any slim chance they had of avoiding attention.

The helmet was as heavy as Kieris had feared; just putting it on was like trying to balance a full grown mabari on his head. He took a step and overbalanced, Alistair managing to catch him before he could crash and make everything worse. “I’m sorry,” Kieris gasped, swallowing against the resulting wave of nausea. “Thanks. It’s fine now.” He straightened up, trying to ignore Alistair’s look of concern.

“Still worried,” Alistair said. “More worried than before, actually.” He left it at that, though, and went to inspect the closed door. He opened it a fraction, just enough to peer out into the hall beyond. “Looks deserted. I’m going to go first. You follow. Think that sounds like something you can handle? Not gonna fall over on me again or anything?”

“Lead the way.” Kieris made his way to the door, focusing just on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to keep his head up.

They ran into so few guards that it seemed too good to be true. Kieris was on edge and he could tell Alistair was too. They hung back in one hallway while a pair of guards passed directly in front of them at the crossroads with a different corridor. One of the men paused briefly to glance in their direction, curl his lip, and mutter something unflattering to his companion about green recruits before they continued on. Both Alistair and Kieris needed a minute to catch their breath once the guardsmen had passed well out of sight with no indication of returning to fight them.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought we were caught there for sure.”

“Good thing most of the guards in Denerim aren’t very good at their jobs?” Kieris offered, earning a snort of agreement.

“The exit should be that way.” Alistair pointed the way opposite of where the guards had been heading. “Come on. We have to keep moving.”

“I’m glad you know where we’re going,” Kieris grumbled, following along behind. “One stone wall looks just like another stone wall if you ask me.”

“I’d say that’s just because you’re Dalish, but I’ve seen you in the wilds as well. Quite frankly, sometimes it’s surprising you don’t get lost on the way back from the privy.” Alistair glanced over his shoulder with a grin. Kieris stuck his tongue out at him, but regretted it immediately. Alistair reached back and caught Kieris’s arm, steadying him while the room wobbled like they were suddenly underwater.

Kieris swallowed bile, curling in to lean heavily against Alistair’s shoulder until everything settled again. “I’m okay,” he insisted, letting go and shifting the too-big helmet to rest on a different set of pressure points. “Lead on.”

The two of them were able to mostly avoid further encounters as they made their way through the fort. Alistair only led them down a few dead ends, which Kieris knew was far better than he himself would have managed even if he wasn’t feeling ill. The few people they passed barely looked at them, which seemed strange given the fact that they had been brought in as prisoners not too long ago.

“I’m surprised nobody’s noticed our empty cell yet,” Alistair said, mirroring Kieris’s thoughts. “Their security can’t possibly, _actually_ be this terrible. Something has got to be up.”

“I don’t think we should question it right now,” Kieris pointed out. “It’s to our advantage - but now you’ve said something, so given our usual luck we’re probably going to walk right into a trap.”

“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine. I guess we’ll find out if you’re right.” Alistair came to a halt. The hallway they had been following ended in a large set of double doors. “And this is probably where we’ll find that out. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Kieris fussed with the helm again, wincing as the insufficient padding bonked him in the back of the head. “Ugh, Creators. I really hate this thing.”

“You can ditch it as soon as we’re out,” Alistair promised. “All right. Here goes nothing!” He held his breath and opened the door, Kieris close at his heels.

The cavernous room beyond was surprisingly empty. It was almost a letdown. There were a few guards standing around in pairs, as well as two massive ballistae mounted on elevated tiers along the sides of the room, but none of the gathered force that the two Wardens had been geared up for. A female officer, likely sergeant rank from the marks on her armor, looked up from the report she was reading, frowned, and marched over to them.

“And where do you think you’re going?” she asked, giving them both a shrewd once-over. She was surprisingly businesslike in comparison to the unquestioning, even lackadaisical men and women that Kieris and Alistair had seen through the rest of the fort.

“We’re, er--” Alistair began, hesitating long enough to raise suspicion.

“Going on patrol,” Kieris finished for him, trying to stand up straight without swaying.

“Wait. I recognize you now. You’re the Wardens they brought in!” The sergeant drew her sword, shouting a rallying cry for the others in the room. “To arms!”

Alistair pushed Kieris behind him, catching the sergeant’s blade on his own. It took a moment for the rest of the guards to respond to their commanding officer’s shout. By the time they started jogging over, Alistair had already dispatched the woman with a hard knock of the pommel of his sword to her unprotected head. He stepped over her unconscious form to engage the others, keeping himself interposed between them and Kieris.

“I have an idea!” Kieris shouted, hoping Alistair heard him. He dodged around Alistair, one dagger in his hand just in case, and slipped past the forerunners who were moving to engage Alistair. An archer was just scrambling up onto the dais that housed one of the ballistae. Kieris swore, shucking the helmet off and throwing it aside. It was clearly becoming more of a risk to wear it than it was to go without.

Kieris stumbled as the world around him swam again. He saw the archer line up her shot, bowstring pulled back to her cheek. As she let the arrow fly, Kieris threw himself gracelessly to the stone floor. His head jarred and he saw sparks, but the missile passed harmlessly over him. He dragged himself upright while she nocked her next arrow. She drew before Kieris even reached the steps: there would be no avoiding her next shot.

The arrow caught Kieris through the muscle of his shoulder, the force of the blow almost knocking him back down the stairs. He had a stray thought of gratitude that the archer didn’t have an elven longbow before the beginning edge of pain lanced through his adrenaline rush. With the arrow still sticking out of his shoulder, Kieris dashed up the stairs before the archer could fire again. He ducked under the swipe she made with her bow as an attempt to unbalance him, which almost worked thanks to Kieris’s already shattered equilibrium, but he came out of his crouch with a thrust that speared his dagger straight through her neck.

Kieris would have preferred to incapacitate rather than kill, since the guards were only following orders, but he hadn’t had the choice. With his head spinning and his right arm protesting his every move, Kieris hauled the ballista around to point toward the door - and Alistair. Two of the guards were still fighting with him. From Kieris’s vantage point, it looked like Alistair was struggling. Kieris sheathed his dagger and winched the loaded weapon into readiness, lining up the shot he wanted.

It was a risky move, but worth it. Kieris put his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Alistair, facing him, looked up in surprise before dropping to the ground and rolling to the side. The guards he had been fighting turned around to see what was happening behind them. As soon as Alistair was down, Kieris fired. The massive bolt glanced off of one guard’s armor and thudded heavily into the wall. Even though it did nothing to actually incapacitate or injure either of the remaining guards, it spooked both of them well enough that they turned tail and fled deeper into the fort rather than keep fighting.

Alistair jogged over to the platform while Kieris jumped down - which was a terrible idea in hindsight. Kieris yelped, cradling his injured arm. Alistair reached out to steady him and Kieris leaned heavily on him in return. “Nice shot, but you missed,” Alistair said. “Anyway, let’s get out of here.”

“I would like that,” Kieris gasped. It felt like Alistair was holding Kieris up more than Kieris was. Alistair half-dragged him through to the foyer and out the main entrance, thankfully without running into any more guards. All they needed was a little more luck to get them safely back to the Arl’s Estate.


	4. Chapter 4

If it had been up to Zevran, anyone looking for Anora would have found the young Queen’s body floating in the nearest river. Since it was not up to him, the traitorous bitch still lived, safely ensconced in meetings with the Arl just like Alistair had been only the day before.

Zevran paced Kieris’s quarters - supposedly Zevran had been given his own room at the estate, but he had yet to step foot in it. He was more comfortable in Kieris’s, despite how it now made him dwell on the situation all the more. When Zevran had visited Wynne to check on how his injury was healing, Leliana had been there as well. She had invited Zevran to come with her when she went to the Chantry to pray for Kieris’ and Alistair’s safe return, but nobody else seemed overly concerned about the two Wardens’ capture. Sitting around and waiting didn’t suit Zevran, though. He wanted to go in and get them himself.

The intensity of that feeling - the need to rescue Kieris from those who meant him harm - was startling. Considering how their relationship had begun, it was an amusing thought now that the very last thing Zevran wanted was to see Kieris dead. The Teyrn could not offer enough coin for Zevran to kill his Warden; but for the sake of his Warden, Zevran would kill for free.

They knew where Alistair and Kieris were being held, but the bureaucracy of it all had tied the Arl’s - and, by extension of association, Zevran’s - hands. Thus Zevran paced, trying not to run through the extensive list of torture techniques he was intimately acquainted with. He tried not to think of Kieris’s face, always so quick to smile, bloody and twisted with screaming pain. Unfortunately, these images came to him no matter how hard he tried to shut them out. The fear of losing Kieris forever was very real and very strong - and very unnerving.

Zevran stopped short. He had sworn that he wouldn’t do it again. How had it sneaked up on him without his realizing? Why hadn’t he noticed it before? When had he fallen in love?

It was true that Kieris was physically charming, from the way his smile lit him up from the inside out to the way his forehead crinkled beneath his Dalish tattoos when he was worried. Zevran had, however, met others in the past who were more handsome and had similarly charming quirks. There were so many others that Zevran had fallen into bed with: marks, whores, and even ordinary men and women who could not resist the pull of his allure. Yet none of those people had held Zevran’s interest for more than the night at best. What was it about this relatively unexceptional Grey Warden?

Zevran sat on the edge of the bed, rumpled as it was from his unsuccessful attempts at sleeping, and pulled on his boots. A gift. Something he had mentioned only once in passing as an offhand, if slightly homesick, remark. That tiny wish had been not only remembered, but fulfilled. Perhaps that was what made Kieris so different - the way he cared so deeply. It was a compassion that was almost worrying. To what length would Kieris go to stop the Blight? It was a question for the future, but it would never even need to be asked if he didn’t come back this time, and if Zevran did nothing, there was a good chance that he would lose his reckless lover. It reminded him of one of the lessons he had learned well: A still knife cuts as deep as one that lashes out.

Zevran strapped on his armor and checked his weapons before climbing out the window and down the side of the building. Let them sit idly by and ignore the fact that the only two people who could end the Blight were being held captive. A Crow could get in and get out without being detected or being traced back to the Arl. In fact, Zevran could honestly say, if caught, that he had been hired by Teyrn Loghain himself. There was a lovely irony in that.

After easily dodging Eamon’s guards posted around the estate, Zevran headed out into the Denerim marketplace. It all looked much the same as the day before, as if nothing and changed - and for most of the populace, nothing _had_ changed. Even the weather was the same. It was warm and clear, with not a cloud in the sky as afternoon faded to evening. Had Zevran the patience left, he would have waited to leave until the cover of nightfall. His patience had run out, however, and he trusted in his abilities to be able to case the Fort during the daylight hours without being noticed.

Zevran stuck to the back alleys as he made his way through the city, keeping out of sight of the guard just as a precaution. It was unlikely that they would think much of him if they did see him, but it was better to not give them the opportunity. He worked out a plan in his head as he went, stepping over a body that lay across the narrow alley and ignoring the groan from the slumped form beside it. Every city had its less fortunate. There was no way to help every one of them, and it was generally more efficient to just try to ignore them. This one, however, refused to be ignored, his voice cutting straight through Zevran’s tangled thoughts.

“Maker’s breath! Zevran!?” Alistair groaned again, raising his head to look up at Zevran properly. “What are you doing out here?”

Zevran stopped immediately, turning on his heel to face him. “Alistair!? I thought you had been captured. Where is Kieris?”

“He’s here, too,” Alistair said, pushing his back against the wall to brace himself enough to rise to a standing position. His armor was even more damaged than Zevran remembered, and he was without his helmet as well. A quick downward glance revealed the helmet at Alistair’s feet, beside a too-familiar shock of black hair so tangled that it almost fully concealed the intricate design that Zevran had traced with his fingers time and again. 

“Kieris!” Zevran exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside what he had moments earlier believed was just a corpse. “What happened? Does he live?” Zevran answered one of his own questions, feeling the faint wind of Kieris’s breath against his hand. He swept the matted hair out of Kieris’s face, revealing a nasty gash along the side of his head that was sticky and crusted with half-dried blood. The broken shaft of an arrow protruded from one shoulder. “Don’t answer that. We must get back and get you both treated first. Alistair, can you walk?” Zevran reigned in his rising panic, relying on the cool logic his training had drilled into him as he cradled Kieris’s limp form against his chest.

“Slowly, but yes. He’s worse off than I am.” Alistair kept one arm wrapped around his middle, partially concealing the rusty stain there. “I mean, I’m not in the best shape either, but at least I’m still conscious.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Zevran said. With an effort, he lifted Kieris in his arms as he got to his feet. After only a moment, he had to shift his burden to a less dignified position over his shoulder. He worried about Kieris’s health, but it was more important to Zevran that he got to the estate quickly rather than worrying about how exactly he got there.

They moved slowly, but with purpose. Occasionally Zevran heard Kieris wheeze and it was like a cold fist closed around his heart. It felt like an eternity passed before they reached the gates of the Arl’s estate, sending Eamon’s guards fluttering about like so many useless, armor-plated birds. Wynne met them at the front door, word having traveled quicker than Zevran expected.

“Inside,” she ordered. “Quickly, now. Alistair, find a seat in the parlor. Zevran, if you would please put Kieris on the sofa. You’ve done him no favors by carrying him like that.”

Zevran chafed under the reprimand, but his worry outweighed the desire to defend himself. He did as he was bidden and then knelt beside the sofa, Alistair trailing behind at a slower pace. With Kieris laid out and in better lighting, Zevran finally got a good look at him. Kieris was pale, even for someone of his already-fair complexion. The scratch on his cheek that he had acquired while assisting Zevran only the day before stood out as a dark, angry line.

Wynne entered the room last, rolling up the sleeves of her Circle robes. “All right, Zevran - out. There is much to be done,” Wynne said, barely looking at him.

“What?” Zevran asked, startled. “You wish for me to leave?” He held one of Kieris’s hands, gently stroking his thumb over the back of it. “My dear Wynne, you cannot possibly ask me to--”

“I cannot treat him like he needs if you are in the way,” Wynne explained, her voice softening somewhat. “And he needs more than you probably realize. I’m sorry, Zevran, but it really is best if you leave.”

“I can help you,” Zevran protested, surprising himself with his intensity. “I can… fetch water or bandages or medicine. Please, Wynne. Don’t make me leave him when I have only just found him once again.”

Wynne pursed her lips, and Zevran looked away from her in order to watch the shallow, but steady, rise and fall of Kieris’s chest.

“All right,” Wynne finally said. “Please go get a bottle of alcohol, a pitcher of the hottest water you can manage, and as many bandages as you are able to carry.”

Zevran was reluctant to leave, but the sooner he was able to procure Wynne’s requested items, the sooner he would be able to come back. He brushed a kiss against Kieris’s forehead and rose, acknowledging Wynne with a nod before leaving the room at a sprint.

When Zevran returned, precariously balancing a bottle of clear alcohol, a pitcher of steaming water, and an armload of linen strips, both Kieris and Alistair had been stripped down to almost nothing. The broken arrow still stuck out from Kieris’s shoulder, and there were a couple of nasty bruises revealed to be decorating his torso. Wynne stood over him, her hands cupped over his head and emitting a soft, blue light.

“She said not to interrupt her,” Alistair said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Zevran could now see the colorful bruise that blossomed over Alistair’s ribs and the bloody slice along his hip and outer thigh that was at least as long as his hand span. “I wouldn’t mind a hand getting cleaned up a bit, though. As long as you don’t try anything funny.”

“The things of which you speak could not be further from my mind, Alistair,” Zevran assured him. Zevran knelt and helped Alistair clean the thankfully shallow wound with the alcohol, but held off bandaging it until Wynne could take a look. Instead, Zevran held a folded strip of linen against the gash and applied pressure just like Kieris had done with him the day before.”What happened to you? The lady, and I use that term loosely, mentioned an ambush and that the two of you acted as a… sacrificial distraction so that she could make her escape.”

Alistair snorted. “There was an ambush, all right, but she’s the one who threw us on their swords. Ris took a headshot and went down pretty quick, and I couldn’t take all of them on my own. Next thing I knew, we’re locked in a jail cell. I thought they’d killed him, at first, but if they had then they wouldn’t have bothered to strip him down and throw him in there with me. I don’t think, anyway.” He glanced over at Kieris, worry plain on his face.

“Thank you for watching out for him.” Zevran was absolutely serious, surprising Alistair into meeting his eyes. Zevran held his gaze for a long moment before Alistair cleared his throat and looked away again.

“Ris and I are practically brothers. Of course I’m going to keep an eye on him. Anyway, long story short: Ris picked the lock on our cell and we got our gear back before fighting our way out. He looked more than a bit peaky the whole time - when he looked at you there’d be times when his left eye would just sort of slide away. It was… creepy.” Alistair winced as Zevran shifted, changing the pressure on his wound. “Ow!”

“I’ll get to you in a moment, Alistair,” Wynne said, the glow fading from her hands. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she opened her eyes. “The worst of the damage to his head has been mended. Zevran, I’ll take over from you there. Will you be so kind as to fetch me a strong pot of tea? I fear it may be a long night to come.”

“Of course,” Zevran agreed, letting out a heavy breath of his own. Relief left him feeling a little light-headed and giddy, though the worry would not leave him completely until he was able to look Kieris in the eye and talk to him - and, most importantly, have Kieris talk back.

***

Waking up not knowing where he was or how he got there was getting old. Kieris coughed, his mouth dry as a desert. A gentle hand touched his forehead, and Kieris blinked his eyes open. It only took a moment for him to register his surroundings, and he was surprised to find himself tucked warmly into the bed in his quarters at Arl Eamon’s estate. The hand that nudged a stray lock of hair from his face belonged to Zevran.

“Zev--?” Kieris began, but the question caught in his throat.

“Easy, now.” Zevran helped Kieris to sit up and handed him a cup of water. While Kieris carefully drank, his arms like overcooked noodles, he could see Zevran watching him over the rim of the cup.

“What is it?” Kieris asked, cradling the empty cup in his hands. “Is there something on my face?” The intensity of Zevran’s gaze was a little unnerving.

“Do you not remember your dramatic escape from Fort Drakon?” Zevran looked away long enough to take the cup and place it on the bedside table. “I suppose that is not terribly surprising, truthfully. You collapsed on Alistair just after you two cleared the Fort. According to Wynne, we’re very lucky to still have you around with your right mind intact.”

There was, Kieris realized suddenly, a bandage wrapped around his head. When he looked down, he was greeted by additional bandages that enveloped his shoulder. It was no wonder that his arms felt weak. Thankfully, the realizations did not carry any flares of sudden pain with them. “I… it sort of feels like it was a dream,” Kieris admitted. “But I feel very awake now. How long was I out?”

“Two days,” Zevran said. At Kieris’s sputtered response, Zevran laughed and continued. “You have not missed much, my Ris. However, I…” Zevran trailed off, breath leaving him in a short puff like a sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was softer and he suddenly wouldn’t meet Kieris’s eyes. “I was afraid you were not going to wake up.”

“Zev,” Kieris said, reaching out with his good hand to take one of Zevran’s. “I’m sorry.” It was strange to see Zevran as anything but confident. “I’m awake now, though. Nothing to worry about.”

“So you are,” Zevran said, slipping his hand free and getting up from the bed. “I should fetch Wynne. She will want to have a look at you now that you have awakened.”

“Wait, Zev.” Kieris tried to get up, but his body felt as heavy as if he had been turned into a golem, his movements sluggish at best. He gave in, falling back against the pillows and settling for just watching Zevran from there. “Something’s going on, isn’t it? What’s really bothering you?”

Zevran sighed, resting a hand on the bedpost like it was an anchor for him. “I really do not know what to say.” He turned to face Kieris, leaning against the post an focusing on a spot above Kieris’s head. “How can I explain? An assassin… must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless. I thought it was the same between us. Something to enjoy; a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…”

“Zevran, are you saying…” Kieris swallowed, and when he spoke his lips felt numb and his voice was loud and echoing against the sudden roaring in his ears. “Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” Zevran said, sounding almost as confused as Kieris felt. “How would you know such a thing? I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong.” He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. Kieris didn’t interrupt, just letting Zevran collect himself before continuing. “Yet I cannot help it. Since you asked me into your tent, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?”

Kieris nodded slowly, distantly relieved that the motion did not bring with it a wave of nausea anymore. “Yes, actually,” he said after a long pause. “I think I might.” There was a vulnerability about Zevran that Kieris had never seen before, like a wall he had never quite realized was there had suddenly vanished.

“All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of… I do not know what. But seeing how close I came to losing you made me realize that I must know if what this is between us is more than simply good fun.” Zevran’s focus was back on Kieris, not straying from his face.

“I’ve been in love with you for… I don’t really know how long,” Kieris admitted. “I tried not to, knowing you weren’t interested in anything that serious, but… like you said. I cannot help it.”

“I have something for you,” Zevran said, reaching into the pouch at his belt as he moved back to Kieris’s side. He took out something small, a circle of metal that glinted in the candlelight, and pressed it into Kieris’s hand. “It seems an appropriate moment to give it to you.”

Kieris’s eyebrows knit together as he looked down at the small circle of gold that lay in the center of his palm. “An earring?” he asked, looking to Zevran for clarification.

“I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows. A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single, golden earring when I killed him.” Zevran smiled fondly at the memory. “In fact, that’s about all he was wearing.”

Kieris snorted with laughter, but closed his fingers protectively over the earring. “That does sound like a situation you would find yourself in.”

“Doesn’t it?” Zevran perched on the edge of the bed beside Kieris, still watching him intently. “I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since… and I’d like you to have it.”

“Thank you, Zevran.” Kieris blushed, the tips of his ears burning. “You can call me sentimental if you’d like, but even if it’s just something like a good luck charm to you, it means so much more than that to me.”

“It has always been special to me. I had intended it now as a… token of affection.” Kieris was surprised to see Zevran’s face flush. Perhaps it was only a trick of the light. “Will you take it?” Zevran asked.

“That sounds like a proposal,” Kieris joked.

“Not unless you wish it,” Zevran replied seriously. He really was blushing, Kieris realized. Suddenly the true weight of their conversation dawned on him.

“I… yes. I would be more than happy to accept it. All of it,” Kieris said, opening his hand to look again at the little piece of jewelry that held such an important meaning. “Only… I have one concern.” He looked back up at Zevran. “Do you know where I can get my ear pierced so that I can wear it?”

Zevran, who had fought to keep a carefully neutral expression despite the betraying blush, gave Kieris a warm, genuine, but strangely almost shy smile. “I’m sure we can find a way.” He leaned in for a kiss, Kieris meeting him halfway. When they parted, Zevran added. “More incentive for you to recover quickly, no?”


	5. Epilogue

Despite all of the pain, death, and destruction that the people of Ferelden had endured, it seemed like everyone in Denerim had turned out to celebrate the death of the Archdemon and the end of the Blight. Stepping foot outside of the palace had been an overwhelming experience for Kieris, what with the massive crowd of people who all wanted to see him specifically. The fact that he was Dalish didn’t seem to give any of them pause. He was their Hero, now, but it was a titled that Kieris didn’t want. All he wanted was some time alone with Zevran.

Thankfully, the party in the castle had been big and bustling enough that Kieris had been able to grab Zevran and escape without being caught. The two of them had snagged a bottle of wine and retired to the suite given to them by Alistair - _King_ Alistair now, thanks to the Arl’s influence - and proceeded to have a party of their own making.

“Zev!” Kieris cried, pulling reflexively against the restraints that kept his wrists firmly anchored to the corners of the enormous four-post bed. Zevran had him pinned against the mattress, rolled up onto the flat between his shoulder blades.

Any words that may have followed were muffled when Zevran leaned down and caught Kieris’s mouth with his own. Zevran drove deep into his willing partner, Kieris hooking his heels over Zevran’s shoulders to encourage him. One of Zevran’s hands snaked around to grasp Kieris’s previously neglected cock, causing Kieris to slam his head back into the pillow with a ragged gasp followed by a plaintive moan. 

“Zev!” Kieris exclaimed again, both begging and in warning.

Zevran only chuckled breathlessly, briefly catching the golden hoop that glinted from Kieris’s ear in his teeth and giving it a small tug. His hand continued to stroke Kieris in time to the movement of his hips, winding Kieris up harder and harder until Kieris’s remaining control over his own body shattered.

Kieris was dimly aware of the way Zevran tensed over him and the hot, sticky fluid that splashed against his chest while more of it spurted out deep within him. They stayed that way for a long moment, Kieris’s toes curled so tightly that they began to ache and Zevran trembling with exertion.

Kieris couldn’t help the disappointed sound that escaped him when Zevran pulled out and collapsed bonelessly beside him. Zevran huffed a laugh, rolling over in order to release the bonds on Kieris’s closest arm. “I think we could both use at least a short rest, mi amor.”

“Logically, I understand that,” Kieris replied. He groaned, flexing his arm once he could move it again. “But that doesn’t stop me wanting more of you.”

“You know exactly what I want to hear, don’t you?” Zevran grinned, trailing his fingers down Kieris’s back when Kieris moved to release his other arm.

Kieris shivered and his fingers fumbled with the clasp before he was able to free himself from it. “And you, ma vhenan, are an incredibly dangerous man.” He turned back to Zevran, who pulled him close and began chafing his wrists to coax full feeling back into his hands.

“I am glad that you are able to see the obvious,” Zevran said flippantly. “But you, of course, are never in any real danger from me. I swear this to you.”

“I love you, too,” Kieris said, pressing a kiss against the corner of Zevran’s mouth. “Thank you for talking me into sticking around for this.”

“You were acting like a noble fool,” Zevran said with a snort. “You would never allow Alistair to take that final blow, so really the only choices left to you were to take it yourself and die or spend a single night with a woman. Even if it was Morrigan, you must admit this is better than being dead, no?”

“I clearly said thank you for talking me into it,” Kieris pointed out. “That also might be one of my more terrifying memories that I would prefer to forget - or at least not think about ever again.”

“I can agree to that.” Zevran curled an arm around Kieris, both of them falling silent.

Kieris felt himself fully relax for the first time in a long time, listening to the sound of his heart rate slowly returning to normal as well as the distant, dull buzz of revelry from elsewhere in the castle. He must have begun to doze off, because when Zevran finally spoke again is made him jump slightly in surprise.

“You told Alistair you were going to travel. Any thought on where you wanted to go?”

“Somewhere outside Ferelden,” Kieris said. “I’ve heard from someone that Antiva is an interesting country. I’m not sure if he’d want to join me in making sure the Crows have finally learned to leave him alone for good, though.”

Zevran tensed at the suggestion, but the tension ebbed and he laughed. “All right. Maybe I could be persuaded to show you a few of the Antivan sights. It’s been far too long since I was last in Antiva City.”

“I can be very persuasive,” Kieris assured him, fingers tracing the lines of Zevran’s tattoos as the slowly made their way down to the enticing trail of fine blond fuzz that led to Zevran’s cock.

“Oh yes, I am aware.” Zevran drew in a short breath when Kieris’s wandering hand reached its ultimate goal. “Hmm,” Zevran said, arching up into Kieris’s hand. “Again? I’m game.”


End file.
